Friday, September 17, 2010
Creating My Day
As I was lying in bed this morning, considering the possibilities for the day, I recalled something from the film, "What the Bleep Do We Know!?" It's where Dr. Joe Dispenza talks about creating your day, actually imagining and forming your day, how you want to see and experience it. I was thinking about how much I have appreciated seeing all the wildlife that's passed through my yard this summer. Besides bunnies and birds, there were bears. Although I never actually laid eyes on the bear, or bears, which I've written about, there was evidence of their presence for a few weeks.
The deer which fed off the tender shoots of my fruit trees earlier in the summer have been through. I've often seen their hoof prints crossing my driveway. Many evenings there's been a small group, anywhere from four to seven adults, along with three fawns, in a nearby field. These little ones had spots until about three weeks ago, when I saw two of them nursing from their mother, quite near the road, as I drove by in the evening. She just kept an eye on me as they fed. They must have been late spring babies.
There was a red fox I startled when walking in my yard late one evening. It ran from near the old chicken coop, jumped over the corner of my perennial garden in back and bounded off into the trees beyond. I suppose he'd been keeping an eye on it and thought, "New landlord, maybe chickens." Not yet, maybe next year. It did give me something to mull over. I had chickens in Ansel and something eventually did find it's way inside the coop, killing the hens. I was heartsick. I know the possible dangers and want to be very sure that, if I do get chickens, I'm more than adequately prepared for predators. Learning to live with nature isn't always easy and takes preparation, in some cases.
Yesterday, as I was leaving the vegetable garden, I heard a familiar noise, but couldn't quite place it. "Gobble, gobble," should have been a clue. As I turned towards the house, a small flock of wild turkeys was making its way across my lawn. I was torn between pausing to watch and getting closer for a better look. Neither option suited them. They were off and running. As I got closer, a straggler came around the house. Back came a rather imposing member of the flock, the kingpin of the group I suppose, and tried to hurry the straggler along. He sort of ran/flew, as much as a turkey can fly with so little runway, and set himself down next to it, bobbing his head as if to say, "Will you get your ass in gear. She's back and we don't know what to expect."
I got my camera and walked to the road to see if they were crossing it, but nothing. They must have hunkered down in the little spot of woods between my yard and the road. I decided not to stir them up, but let them take cover and feel safe.
Back to creating my day. As I was lying in bed, I thought how nice it would be to see deer actually in the yard again. It was a misty morning, barely dawn, when I decided to get up and get the coffee going. While it brewed, I sat down at the kitchen table, next to a window, and quietly watched the morning emerge. Within a few minutes, one by one, seven deer walked by the perennial garden, past the clothesline and down into the hollow. I got my camera and tried to quietly, from inside the house, see if I could take a photo worth sharing with you. It's not great, but it's what I could do in the circumstances:
Before I go about creating the rest of my day, I want to share a quote with you that has recently spoken to me. It's by Ayn Rand, from her novel, Atlas Shrugged.
Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours.